


The Angel and the Tin Soldier

by Joy_Pedler



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, Christmas Tree, Gen, Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-04 00:14:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joy_Pedler/pseuds/Joy_Pedler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel and Dean have been through a lot together.<br/>Of all the Christmas ornaments they've survived the longest; the angel on the top of the tree and the little tin soldier.<br/>Every year it's out of the box, onto the tree and back in the box.<br/>No change.<br/>This Christmas though, things go a little differently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little bit of a Christmas fic  
> Comments are much appreciated  
> Merry Christmas!

Castiel had always hated the dark. Something about it stirred a deep fear within him, and here when it was dark it was cold.

And Castiel hated being cold.

“Hey Cas?” a voice called to him, soft in the darkness.

There was only one person it could be.

“Yes Dean?”

“You okay?” his friend asked, his concern coming through even in his hushed tone.

Castiel smiled to himself, cheeks turning pink.

“Yes Dean, thank you.”

He heard his friend chuckle, a sound that warmed him even in the cold and dark.

“You know we’ll be out of here soon, Christmas’s in a couple weeks,” Dean said gently, and Castiel nodded, for his own benefit since Dean couldn’t actually see him, glad that the dark hid the tang of disappointment in his mouth.

“Yes Dean, I know.”

Castiel heard Dean open his mouth to speak again.

“Cas-“

“-Will you two be quiet,” Balthazar groaned. “Some of us are trying to get some sleep.”

The two of them were silent then, and Balthazar soon went quiet and still again.

Castiel closed his own eyes, preparing for sleep.

“Goodnight Cas,” Dean’s whisper found its way to him, and Castiel smiled.

“Goodnight Dean.”

* * *

 

There was so much noise in the morning. Everyone chattered excitedly, because they knew it was the day. Christmas was in exactly three weeks, and it was always exactly three weeks before Christmas when they’d be taken out of the attic.

Beside him Anna talked in his ear, smoothing down her dress, worrying with her hair. He told her she looked lovely, that she needn’t worry; she was sure to be put out for everyone to see.

She beamed at him, radiant, and turned to Jodie to ask a question.

Anna was one of the newer ones. Only been there a few years so the fabric of her dress still shone, her hair hadn’t started to fall out yet.

She was only a small ornament, but painted beautifully with blushing cheeks and, beautiful red hair that was so glossy, proper horsehair. Castiel’s hair was sculpted and painted black, not real like hers, but he wasn’t envious. Hester’s hair started falling out two years ago and had to be glued back on. It had gone very patchy, and made her very self-conscious.

He was more envious of her legs. Anna was a shepherd, but her dress was proper fabric, covering thin porcelain legs.

Which meant she could walk.

Castiel would have loved to be able to walk. He was entirely porcelain, painted delicately. He didn’t have legs. His robe extended down to where his feet would be, to his base. He couldn’t walk, couldn’t even move.

It wasn’t too bad, not when he was on the tree, but in the box he’d be stuck in the same place over the year. Which meant that if Dean ended up on the other side of the box they’d be stuck just talking for the entire year.

Dean had legs, but like Castiel he was one of the oldest ornaments, so the tin had rusted at the hinges, making it impossible for him to move them. Every year when they were packed away Castiel hoped that they’d end up near each other, but over the years it had become clear that the odds weren’t good.

Dean was usually put at the bottom of the tree, because he was older and more worn and not as clean and flashy as some of the other ornaments. That meant that Dean was usually one of the first in the box.

Castiel was always the last to be put away.

So usually they’d end up separated by layers and layers of ornaments.

The Christmas of 2003 though Dad had dropped the box when he was carrying it to the attic and everyone got shuffled around. They ended up right next to each other that year, and spent the entire year talking.

They hadn’t been that close since though.

It didn’t mean that Castiel had forgotten what Dean looked like. They didn’t often see each other on the tree, but Dean had always been striking to Castiel.

His uniform was a handsome red with beautiful gold buttons and trim, black pants and boots. He was very proud of his bayonet, the tip broken off years ago, but Dean had never stopped showing it off.

Castiel had never liked what he looked like. He’d been made in one piece, not with parts but as a whole. The folds of the robe were a pure white, the trim painted a lustrous gold, but very plain and simple, his hands folded permanently in prayer, unable to do anything other than sit in front of his chest, always praying.

The only feature he’d ever really liked was his eyes. They had been painted a startling blue, and Dean had always liked to tease him about how they went so nicely with his pink lips and rosy cheeks.

Dean also liked to make fun of his expression.

Castiel had to look peaceful when he was on the tree. It was the job of the angel.

Dean said he looked incredibly bored and grumpy, with a tinge of constipation.

Though he didn’t like being teased, Castiel didn’t mind so much when it was Dean. The other ornaments always were a bit star-struck around him, which made him very uncomfortable. His job hadn’t been a choice. He’d been made to do this. It didn’t mean he enjoyed it. Only Dean was comfortable enough around him to make fun of him.

Dean was silent as the others talked rapidly, smiling slightly. The mobile toys had shifted around, and the daylight filtered through the box, dimly lighting them. From there Castiel could see Dean, watched him as Dean watched the others, smiling fondly.

Dean spotted Castiel looking at him and grinned, mock saluting at the angel. Castiel smiled back.

They were veterans the pair of them. Dad had bought Castiel and Dean at the same time, for the first Christmas him and Mom had with Jamie. Castiel had been a special purchase, Dean a gift for Jamie.

Castiel could still remember that Christmas.

He was the last one on the shelf in the store. Male angels weren’t very popular. People liked their traditional longhaired female angels, but for some reason Dad had picked Castiel.

He was swathed in crinkly pink paper and carried carefully, then set down somewhere for a few days. Those had been the worst days. His vision had been nothing but pink, lying on his back, wondering where he was, who had picked him.

He was frightened out of his mind when he was picked up a few days later, gentle hands taking him somewhere. The sounds around him were muffled, the paper he was wrapped in obscuring the talking he could vaguely hear, and then he was passed between two people, laid gently on a lap, and then unwrapped.

His first thought was that Mom was absolutely radiant. Blonde hair cut to her shoulders, warm eyes smiling down at him. She lifted him from the paper and held him up, reverently almost, eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled.

“I love him, he’s so humble,” she said, turning Castiel over in her hands.

It was the first time Castiel had ever seen a Christmas.

A short, homely tree sat in a corner, draped in cheap red and green tinsel, but no ornaments. Under the tree sat only a few presents, hastily wrapped in gaudy Christmas themed paper. The room was only small, the paint on the walls a plain white, water stains on the ceiling, the carpet ratty and mustard yellow. Certainly not a flashy place, but to Castiel it seemed so beautiful.

Mom stood, Castiel held carefully in her hands, and she moved to the tree. There she gently set him atop the tree, releasing him only when she was certain he was steady.

She smiled and turned her back to him.

“What do you think Jamie? Do you like the angel?”

Jamie was only a toddler then. A wide-eyed toddler standing with Dad, watching Castiel with a gummy smile.

“Pretty angel mummy,” he said, coming over to stand with Mom at the tree, the two of them looking up at Castiel. Dad came and put a hand on Mom’s shoulder, and she turned to him with a smile, a light kiss shared.

“Thank you,” she said softly. Castiel would learn that this was the first real Christmas they’d been able to have in years. The first time in years that they’d had a tree, presents, and to Mom he was immediately a symbol of the Christmases to come, of what they would have from that moment on.

“Tree’s looking a bit bare Jame,” Dad said conspiratorially, and Jamie looked to him with wide eyes, a wide smile breaking out on his face as Dad pulled a small box out, putting it in Jamie’s chubby hands.

Jamie tore into the wrapping paper with all the enthusiasm toddlers possess when presented with a gift. The paper fell to the floor, revealing a box.

Castiel had the perfect view from the top of the tree, and watched carefully as Jamie held the box up for inspection. The box was a vibrant red, a picture of its contents on the side Jamie was looking at, so Castiel had no way of knowing what was inside.

Jamie’s smile got wider and he ripped the top of the box open, pulling the contents out.

“D’you want to put him on the tree?” Dad asked him, and Jamie nodded excitedly, squealing in delight as Dad gripped him under the armpits, lifting him up to the tree.

Jamie hooked the ornament over a branch, only a little way down from Castiel, though he couldn’t get a proper look from the angle. Jamie clapped his hands at the sight of his ornament on the tree, face lit up with glee, and Dad smiled down at him, pressing a playful kiss to the top of his head. Mom came to stand beside them, leaning against Dad, eyes twinkling with tears at the sight of their tree.

“Merry Christmas,” Mom said softly, the glow of their tree warming them.

They left a few hours later, after opening the few presents they had. Jamie had grown hungry and Mom and Dad had taken him out for lunch, leaving Castiel alone on the tree with Jamie’s ornament. There was silence for a little while. Castiel didn’t dare to speak; for fear that there would be no answer.

It was happening more often, toys becoming lifeless. Castiel had been on a shelf full of them in the store, but only he and a few others had been able to speak, to move.

It had sent shivers down his spine seeing duplicates of himself that stared vacantly ahead, and he didn’t know if he wanted to risk asking this ornament a question. It would sadden him too much if he were to receive no reply.

As it was Castiel hadn’t needed to ask a question.

A commotion behind him had him trying to turn around, fear creeping into him. Did they own a pet that would knock him off the tree to the ground where he would break?

“Well, um hello,” a voice said from behind him, the speaker still out of sight, and Castiel tried his best to twist to see them, his fear slowly replaced with curiosity.

He spotted a flash of red, before his stomach flipped in shock. The strain of trying to turn around had made him unbalanced, and he felt himself tipping, falling.

He let out a gasp, closing his eyes, preparing for the fall, when he was stopped, cold, metal hands stopping him from falling, righting him.

“Whoa there, don’t strain yourself angel,” the voice said warmly, making sure Castiel was stable before the hands left him, and Castiel opened his eyes.

Standing before him was a soldier. A tin soldier painted in bright colours. Skin a warm pink, his jacket the same vibrant red as the box, his buttons glinting gold, a bayonet slung across his back. His face hadn’t been painted in the same detail as Castiel’s, but simply. He’d been made for a child, his mouth a plain black line, eyes two dots of black within two grass green orbs.

Somehow the simplicity didn’t show in Castiel’s eyes. To him the soldier had so much character, his face taking on so much more than his paint.

He was smiling, the soldier, at Castiel, and Castiel cleared his throat, cheeks flushing at his near fall.

“Thank you,” he said softly, embarrassment making him nervous.

The soldier grinned.

“Just try not to fall again,” he said cheerily, walking around Castiel. “I like the outfit, the white and gold really suits you,” he commented, his smile shining through in his voice. “And nice wings.”

Castiel didn’t like his wings. They were the same porcelain as the rest of him, extending from his back, but they were cartoonish. Small and without detail. The porcelain had been shaped into small feathers, and small gold flecks under each lumpy feather for definition. They’d most likely been forgotten by the designer in Castiel’s original design, added on as an afterthought.

“You’re pretty snazzy aren’t you angel?” the soldier said with a smile, coming to stand in front of Castiel again. “You got a name angel?”

“Castiel,” he answered softly, blushing. The soldier hadn’t meant to use an endearing term, he was calling Castiel what he was, but it still made him blush.

The soldier smiled and reached for Castiel’s cheek.

“Nice paint job Cas,” he said, touching Castiel’s cheek and blush gently, his metal hands not uncomfortable on Castiel’s porcelain skin. “I’m Dean.”

Dean stuck out his hand for a handshake and Castiel squirmed uncomfortably. Dean frowned.

“What’s up? You don’t like handshakes?” he asked, to which Castiel shook his head.

“No, no it’s not that. I just,” he trailed off. “I can’t.”

Dean raised an eyebrow.

“You can’t? What do you mean?”

Castiel gestured embarrassedly to his hands.

“I can’t move them,” he explained stiffly, embarrassed for having to spell this out. Dean looked to his hands and his frown turned into a smile.

“You should’ve said so,” he chided, reaching over and simply placing his hand over Castiel’s, the place where their hands met turning warm. “Nice to meet you Cas.”

That Christmas had been thirteen years ago, and somehow Castiel and Dean had lasted through them. Castiel had grown a bit chipped in places, his paint wearing, and he’d lost a tip of his wing at some point, and Dean’s paint too was fading, his jacket not red but exposed tin in some places, but they were both still around, and still going on the Christmas tree, which meant something.

Ornaments had come and gone over the years. There had been Ruby, a gift from a friend of Dad’s. She’d been a tiny girl lounging in a martini glass. She’d fallen off the tree and smashed on the ground. There was Adam, a baseball player from a team Dad had supported at the time wearing a Santa hat. He’d fallen out of the box one year and had never been found. There was even Lucifer, a tiny Santa with devil horns that Mom had thrown out only a day after putting him on the tree. She’d found him too creepy.

Castiel and Dean had never been thrown out or discarded or forgotten. Something about them being the first of the ornaments made the family sentimental about them.

Dean was still smiling at Castiel when the sound of the attic door unlocking resounded, and a hush came over the box. The ornaments all went quiet, fixing their smiles, going stiff, and Castiel simply relaxed into what Mom had called his humble smile.

He glanced over at Dean who had plastered his simple smile on, the paint above his left eye worn thin.

There was the sound of the attic door opening, someone coming up the stairs and reaching for the box. Looking around Castiel saw the barely contained excitement of the newer ornaments. Being put on display was always the highlight of an ornament’s year.

They were jostled a bit as the box rose into the air, and the toys slid a bit, some colliding. Still it couldn’t dampen the mood, and there was a collective holding of breath as the box was carried out of the attic. The light immediately became brighter, and some of the ornaments grinned as the box was taken down the stairs to where the tree would be.

“Hey mom!” a voice called. “Where did you want the tree ornaments?”

A muffled response came back, and the carrier turned and placed the box down, footsteps moving away. The ornaments stirred slightly, settling at the sound of footsteps returning. The lid opened for the first time in a year, and as his eyes adjusted to the light Castiel saw Mom’s face again, like the first time.

She looked older than she had the year before. More tired, worn out. She’d cut her hair short, to just below her ears, but it suited her. Castiel had always found her radiant.

But something was off. She wasn’t smiling. She looked tired and bored as she surveyed the ornaments, picking out some of the smaller ones for the top branches of the tree and setting them aside. When she gripped Castiel he was surprised by the roughness with which she carried him out of the box, setting him down on the carpet for later.

He watched her, worry coursing through him as she started pulling out the heavier ones, hanging them on the lower branches. He felt a jolt of happiness go through him when she pulled Dean out, but he faltered when she paused, holding the soldier up to the light.

“Hey Jamie!” she called out, turning her head to the stairs.

“Yeah mom?” the response came.

“Come down here!”

There was the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, and then a tall teenager with floppy hair and a sullen expression came into the room, slouching slightly.

“What?” he said darkly. Jamie was seventeen and the kind of boy that didn’t like talking to his parents like a civilized human being. Not even in private.

“Do you still want your soldier?” she asked, holding Dean up to him. Jamie frowned and came closer, taking Dean in his hand.

Castiel felt his mouth go dry in fear, panic coursing through him.

They couldn’t get rid of Dean. They couldn’t. Not now, not after surviving so many years.

Jamie frowned and shrugged.

“I dunno, do whatever you want,” he mumbled, slouching back out of the room. Castiel mentally begged him to turn around and say that of course he wanted him, why would he throw him away, what was Mom thinking?

Mom held Dean in the palm of her hand, studying him carefully. She hovered between the tree and her pocket, and Castiel screamed at her in his mind, begging her to put him on the tree.

She moved to put him in her pocket but stopped, paused, and then hung him on a low branch on the tree, and Castiel’s panic soothed. She wouldn’t give Dean away. Not just like that.

He watched as she went through the decorations, hanging some on the tree, leaving others to the side, inevitably thrown away later. Castiel’s heart bled for Bela, a beautiful ballroom dancer whose partner had been lost the year before, her expression still and happy as Mom placed her on the floor. He knew that inside she’d be weeping, but couldn’t do anything to help her.

It was only once all the other ornaments had been hung that Mom turned to Castiel. She was more delicate now, holding him carefully, and she paused to look at him. This close the lines on her face were more pronounced, the exhaustion all too clear. She stood straight, readying to place him on the tree.

“Mom?” a voice called from the doorway, and Mom turned, still holding Castiel, and smiled.

“Hey Gem, what’s up?” she asked softly, gesturing for her daughter to come over. The eight year old stepped shyly to the tree, looking at Castiel with wide, curious eyes. She’d never been allowed near the ornaments before, too young, too clumsy.

“D’you like him?” Mom asked, holding out Castiel to her. Gemma’s eyes roamed over Castiel, and she touched his wings gently, and then smiled.

“He’s really nice mom,” she said sweetly, watching with a warm smile as Mom set Castiel atop the tree. Mom wrapped an arm around Gemma and the two of them smiled at their tree.

“It looks beautiful mom,” Gemma said quietly, and Mom leaned down to press a kiss to her daughter’s forehead.

“Thanks baby,” she murmured, letting go and leaving her daughter in front of the tree, headed towards the kitchen. Gemma stayed by the tree, finally old enough to appreciate and understand it, and her eyes roamed over each ornament individually, smiling a small, sweet smile.

She did a double take when she spotted Dean.

She knelt by the tree, taking him in her hand gently and turning him over to get a better look. She ran the pad of her thumb over his front, and then glanced up to the top of the tree. She frowned, as though she couldn’t understand her train of thought, but pulled Dean from his spot on the tree, stood straight, and hung him just below Castiel.

She stood back, admiring her change to the arrangement, and then left, leaving Dean and Castiel closer to each other than they’d ever been before.

* * *

 

It was only late that night, when the family was upstairs and asleep, that the ornaments dared to move again.

They didn’t dare to speak louder than a whisper, though the excitement ran through the air.

Castiel smiled to himself, the joy of the other ornaments warming him. It was nice to be out of the box again, and being around such excitement made him happier about Christmas than he had been in a long time.

“Hey Cas,” that was the other reason he was so happy. He smiled down at Dean.

“Hello Dean,” he replied, smiling at the soldier. “How are you?”

Dean grinned.

“I see why you like it up here Cas, great view,” he said cheekily, and Castiel laughed softly to himself.

“It’s going to be a good Christmas, isn’t it Dean?” he asked quietly, and Dean smiled simply back at him.

“Yeah Cas, it’s gonna be a great Christmas.”

* * *

 

Christmas Eve was not as Castiel had expected.

He’d never seen so many people in one room at a time. The family had never had this many people over for dinner, they’d never had so many to invite. This year they’d invited family, friends, they’d had to set up an extra table to accommodate for all the guests.

It was mostly adults, only a few children, but the people who concerned Castiel the most were Jamie’s cousins. They were a few years older than him, and at the age where treating everything as childish and trivial was cool.

Their arrival had been noisy and overt, and the usually quiet Jamie had grown rude and loud at their presence.

The ornaments hadn’t spoken since they’d arrived, afraid of them, even when alone, and Castiel felt his own fear whenever they’d pass by the tree, afraid they’d find him silly, make fun of him, or worse.

After dinner most of the guests stayed in the dining room, drinking coffee and tea, but Jamie and his cousins ventured into the sitting room, one of them holding a football.

Castiel tried not to be too afraid when they started throwing it around. It sailed across the room, over the chairs, past the tree, thrown from person to person.

One of the cousins held the ball up, gesturing to Jamie.

“Oi cuz, go long,” he called out, taking a few steps back. Jamie grinned and nodded, crouching for the catch. His cousin ran two steps and threw the ball.

Jamie jumped for it, sailing sideways through the air. He caught the ball, but he’d misjudged his jump, and his shoulder crashed into the tree, shaking the ornaments and dislodging Castiel from his secure position.

“What are you boys doing in there?” a voice called from the dining room, and a cousin helped Jamie to his feet, gesturing for them to move to another room.

Castiel tipped slowly backwards, feeling his centre of gravity leave, and he strained to keep himself straight, but it was too late.

He fell backwards, into the corner, down past the tree, past the branches.

He closed his eyes as the ground approached.

* * *

 

“Cas!” a voice called to Castiel from far away, echoing in the hollowness of his head.

“Someone go see if Cas is okay!” the panicked voice ordered. “Now!”

There was a sort of numbness everywhere, a feeling of disconnection from his body, and when Castiel tried to move he found he couldn’t feel any of his limbs, only his face.

“Dean?” he rasped out, his voice dry and cracked. “Anyone?”

He heard the sound of swishing, and managed to open his eyes, the world spinning and fuzzy around him. It was dark where he was, a huge shape blocking out warm light from somewhere in front of him, and there were box like shapes obscuring the floor.

“Castiel?” a different voice called, closer this time.

Shiny fabric and red hair came into view, and Castiel recognized Anna when she used her shepherd’s crook to push aside a tree branch.

He realized where he was.

He’d fallen, down the back of the tree, and was on the ground, behind the tree, behind the presents, in the cold dark corner that the tree sat in.

“Anna?” he managed to wheeze, and the shepherd jolted at her name.

“Castiel? Are you down here?” she called, a frown creasing her beautifully painted face.

“Anna,” Castiel repeated, his consciousness returning to him. Anna swung herself down the branches, landing gently on the floor.

“Castiel! Thank god you’re-“ she cut herself off, eyes widening in horror as she saw him, eyes that soon filled with tears. “Oh Castiel” she said sadly, coming to stand beside him.

“Anna, what? What is it?” he asked, panic flaring in his chest at the pained look on her face.

“I’m so sorry Castiel,” she said softly, kneeling down beside him, reaching to touch his face.

“Anna what’s wrong?” he demanded, trying to twist himself, worry in his gut as he found it impossible to move.

Anna didn’t speak, she just reached down to somewhere beside him and picked something up, holding it out for him to see.

In her tiny hands Anna held a chunk of Castiel’s robe, the gold trim and folded fabric all too familiar. Castiel felt a chill go through him.

“I’m broken,” he said softly, chest heaving in fear, realization dawning. He couldn’t feel his arms, because he didn’t have arms anymore. They were sitting somewhere near him, the porcelain cracked.

Anna touched his face gently, her hand warm and uncomfortable on the cold of his skin, and Castiel turned away, not wanting her to see the tears in his eyes. Anna took her hand back, and retreated silently.

There was nothing to be done for broken things. If life didn’t leave them immediately it would shortly, and Castiel knew he only had a short amount of time before he would be gone too.

He heard the swishing of Anna climbing the tree again, and then the gentle murmurs of talk. It sounded like there was a dispute, and Castiel jumped at an angry shout.

“You take me down to him goddammit!” Dean yelled, the rest of the ornaments shushing him for fear he’d disturb the family.

Castiel closed his eyes, breathing deeply. There was the sound of more movement and then the sound of something landing on the floor.

“Cas?”

Castiel’s eyes opened at Dean’s voice, and he turned his face to him. The soldier had his arm around Anna and Balthazar’s shoulders, a look of absolute dismay on his face. The shepherd and the businessman set Dean down beside Castiel, standing a few inches away.

“You can go,” Dean said to them. They started to protest, asking how he’d get back up the tree, but Dean cut them off with an “I said go!”

The pair turned and started climbing, leaving the angel and the soldier alone.

Dean forced his legs into a sitting position, shuffling himself closer to Castiel’s broken form. The soldier hesitated, but set his hand down on Castiel’s shoulder, the cool metal comforting to the broken angel.

“Hey Cas,” Dean said quietly, smiling down at his friend gently, tears gathering in his green eyes.

“Dean,” Castiel answered softly, looking up at the soldier.

“You okay Cas?” Dean asked, lying down next to Castiel.

Castiel smiled at Dean.

“I am now Dean.”

Dean laughed softly, smiling through the gathering tears, and touched Castiel’s cheek gently.

“You hold on for Christmas Cas, you hear?”

Castiel closed his eyes and nodded.

“Okay Dean.”

* * *

 

Castiel was surprised to wake up the next morning.

Dean was still beside him, one arm across Castiel’s shoulders, holding him to his chest. The soldier slept, but not peacefully, his usually grinning face in a worried frown.

It was the sound of crinkling paper that had roused him, and when he looked to the tree he saw that most of the presents were already gone, the morning light streaming in from under the tree.

“I love it!” Gemma’s voice came muffled from the other side of the tree.

“Santa did well for you this year Gem,” Mom said, followed by the sound of someone standing. “Come on, d’you want to get some breakfast?”

“In a minute mom,” Gemma replied, and Castiel watched as a shadow blocked out the light. There was the distant sound of Mom’s tinkling laugh.

“Come on Gem, Santa didn’t bring you anymore presents, there won’t be any hidden back there.”

Castiel went still as Gemma’s face appeared, searching for any missed presents. She frowned as she spotted him and Dean, and she reached her hand in for them, fumbling in the dark for them. Dean woke at this and his eyes went wide, his grip on Castiel tightening.

Gemma gripped the pair and pulled them out into the light, mouth opening slightly at their embrace. She looked around for Mom, confused, then looked back down at the angel and the soldier.

She frowned and touched the place where Castiel had broken, finger running along the crack delicately.

“Gem! Come on, breakfast!” Mom called from the kitchen, and Gemma jumped, clutching Dean and Castiel tighter.

“Be right there mom!” she called back, and she set down the pair on the carpet before leaning down and reaching, searching for the rest of Castiel’s pieces. She pulled the various porcelain pieces out from under the tree, tucking them into her pockets, and then carried Dean and Castiel from the sitting room, down the corridor.

In her room now she closed the door behind her, and then set down her precious cargo on her bed, pulling the other pieces of Castiel from her pockets.

She made sure they were all there, and then quickly left, closing the door behind her.

Dean turned to Castiel, eyes wide.

“Cas? You okay?” he asked softly, arms tight around Castiel’s shoulders.

Castiel nodded, swallowing nervously.

“It’s gonna be okay Cas,” Dean said quietly, ducking his head against Castiel’s shoulder. “Gemma put me at the top of the tree, maybe she can fix you.”

A sadness passed through Castiel. Broken was broken. It was only a matter of time until he’d stop moving, stop living. Gemma might fix his body, but he wouldn’t recover.

“Yes Dean, maybe she will,” he told the soldier anyway, closing his eyes and thinking only of the feeling of Dean against his side.

An hour later Gemma came back, hands stuffed deep into her pockets. She closed the door behind her, and then turned to Dean and Castiel on her bed. She pulled her hand from her pocket, setting down a tube of super-glue beside Castiel and his pieces.

She gently eased Castiel from Dean’s grip, and then picked up all of Castiel’s pieces in her hands, carrying him tenderly to her desk where she cleared a space for him and set down all his pieces on the wood.

She picked up a piece of porcelain and held it up to the light, then searched through the rest of Castiel’s pieces for the matching piece. She slotted the pieces together, making sure they fit, and then spread a thin line of super-glue along one piece, pressing them together.

She took the piece of Castiel that he could still feel; the head to chest, and carefully glued his abdomen back together. Castiel felt the cold feeling of the glue, but feeling didn’t return to his abdomen, and he felt despair well up inside of him.

He didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to be gone from Dean.

Gemma carefully glued him back together, matching each piece precisely, wiping away the super-glue where it bulged, and when his base was assembled she set him upright again, his head swimming as the world was in balance again.

He was waiting for everything to go black, but was growing less certain of the inevitability.

Every other broken toy he’d known had faded instantly, the longest anyone had lasted was a few hours.

But with every piece Gemma added he felt more alive, even if he couldn’t feel them.

Finally the only two pieces left to add were his wings. The horrible, lumpy things he’d always hated. Gemma held them up to his back, and frowned.

She pulled them away, and then held them back against their seams.

 She seemed to reach a decision, and set the wings back down on the desk, leaving Castiel wingless, but happier than he’d ever felt.

She sat back in her chair, admiring her work, and smiled at Castiel, and for a moment he swore he saw the radiance he’d seen the first time he’d seen Mom.

Gemma returned to the bed, picked up Dean and set him beside Castiel. She tried moving Dean’s legs experimentally, and frowned as they squeaked horribly. She dashed out of the room and returned moments later with a bottle and a rag.

She emptied a small amount of the bottle’s contents onto the rag, and gently eased Dean’s legs around, rubbing the liquid onto the joints. She carefully maneuvered his legs, smiling as the squeaking died down, and set him back down, his joints now oiled.

She picked each of them up in one hand, carrying them gently to her dresser, where Castiel now saw there was a simple dollhouse. She opened the doors of the dollhouse, revealing the two levels and four rooms, and set Dean and Castiel down in what must have been the sitting room. Tiny chairs surrounded a miniature fireplace, and a teeny Christmas tree sat in the corner, a bunch of tiny presents underneath it.

She arranged the pair next to each other, and then stood back, admired the scene, and then closed the dollhouse doors, light filtering through the windows.

Castiel listened as Gemma opened her own door and closed it, leaving them in silence.

Castiel turned his head to Dean, who was watching him with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Are you, are you alright Cas?” he asked, moving to the angel’s side, touching the seam on Castiel’s chest gently. Castiel let out a gasp, because he could feel Dean touching the numb piece, his cool metal hand on his porcelain.

“I, I think I am,” Castiel said, reaching down for his robe experimentally.

Dean’s eyes widened.

“Cas, your hands,” he said quietly, and Castiel frowned, unsure of what Dean meant. Until he looked down and saw that his hands and arms could move, away from his body. He held out his hands, stretching out fingers he’d never been able to use before. “They must have split off when you fell, and couldn’t rejoin like before,” Dean babbled, taking Castiel’s hand and holding it with his own.

Castiel held his breath as his fingers curled around Dean’s, porcelain hand meeting tin for the first time. He reached a hand out, and touched Dean’s face, letting out a soft, amazed gasp at the feeling.

Dean smiled and leaned into Castiel’s touch, closing his eyes and sighing happily.

“I think you’re okay Cas,” the soldier said, opening his eyes, grinning cheekily. “And you look good without wings.”

Castiel reached for his back feeling the cracked holes where his wings used to be.

He smiled; glad to be rid of the horrible things, then looked back to Dean who was now watching him fondly.

“Though it isn’t going to stop me from calling you angel,” the soldier said softly, and Castiel blushed, smiling at the floor.

“Just call me Cas,” he replied, taking Dean’s hand and holding it tight, and the soldier smiled warmly, his eyebrows rising to his hairline as the porcelain angel leaned in and kissed him gently on his tin lips.

When Castiel pulled away the soldier’s face had turned almost as red as his jacket, and he laughed, holding Dean’s hand tighter as the soldier’s shocked expression turned into a grin.

“Merry Christmas Dean.”

“Merry Christmas Cas.”

* * *

 


	2. Epilogue

Dean and Castiel were sitting comfortably by the fake fireplace when there was a knock on the doors to the dollhouse. Castiel looked at Dean who looked at the door, motioning for him to stay quiet.

The knock sounded again, and Dean stood, pulling his bayonet from his shoulder.

“Hello?” someone called from the other side of the door, and Dean paused, setting his bayonet back against his shoulder. “Are you alright in there?”

The doors opened as someone let out a grunt of effort, and Dean took a step back, raising his hand to the light that came in.

“Is your friend alright?” the voice asked, the speaker coming into view.

Dean’s wary expression turned to one of confusion.

“Are, are you a reindeer?” he asked, frowning at the stuffed creature before him.

The creature smoothed a hoof over its fur.

“Moose actually,” he answered, before turning his head to the side. “Hey guys, you can come out, they’re okay!”

Castiel stood, watching as three others came out.

A princess with beautiful red hair grinned at them.

“I’m Charlie,” she introduced, mock curtseying.

“Kevin,” the penguin said.

A teddy bear with a gruff expression crossed his arms.

“You can call me Bobby,” he said, nodding to them.

“And I’m Sam,” the moose said, extending a hoof for shaking.

Dean took the offered hoof and shook it warily.

“I’m Dean, and this is Cas,” he said, gesturing to his angel.

“Castiel,” Castiel corrected him, watching the strange assortment of toys carefully.

“Are you alright? Did Gemma fix you okay?” Charlie asked, coming over to Castiel who nodded, smoothing down his robe, showing her the cracks.

“Does she do that a lot? Fix things?” Dean asked Sam, and the moose nodded as confirmation.

 “Can’t tell you how many times she’s had to sew my eyes back on,” Bobby said, tapping the glass.

“She got me a new squeaker when it stopped working,” Kevin said, squeaking happily.

“Little cousin once snapped my legs off, but she fixed me good,” Charlie smiled.

“And I lost a heap of stuffing to a dog once, but she made me good as new,” Sam explained, displaying his side as evidence. A long brown seam ran down his fur, though it was neat and secure, and a proud scar more than anything.

Dean took Castiel’s hand defensively.

“So this is a good home?” he asked the toys, who all nodded and smiled immediately.

“Gemma’s the best kid anyone could ask for,” Bobby smiled fondly, glancing at the door. “She’s one special girl.”

Sam smiled at the soldier and the angel.

“Welcome to the family.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just something I had to throw in. I just had this image in my mind of them being in Gemma's room and meeting her toys and it being all Toy Story. Bobby had to be a mostly grumpy teddy bear, Charlie a princess (queen of Moondor? Hello?) Kevin was a tough one to pick, but the squeaky penguin seemed best to me.  
> And Sam was a moose of course. Like I could have done anything else.

**Author's Note:**

> So I wanted to jump on the Christmas bandwagon (even though I don't celebrate it) and so I had a few ideas that I was considering, and then this popped into my head: what if Cas was the angel on the Christmas tree, and Dean was a little tin soldier ornament? (yes, I know. The fallen angel and the broken soldier, how on par is that?)  
> Weirdest part is I was writing this before Malachi said the thing about Cas being "Top of the Christmas tree," so when that popped up in the episode I fell out of my chair, freaked me out to say the least!  
> There are definitely things I need to fix, I haven't had someone beta it so if you pick up on something or actually want to help me out with some revisions then shoot me a message :)  
> I hope you enjoyed it, it was certainly lots of fun to write!


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